


Title to be added later

by mithrel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Animal Abuse, Banter, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Noodle Incidents, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22629619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: There are strays, and strays.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Title to be added later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liueyen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liueyen/gifts).



> Written for my friend liueyen on twitter. All the warnings in the tags are very brief, and all but the animal abuse are on the part of an OC in the beginning. I tried to cover all the bases to be safe, but I swear it's actually fluffy.

Aziraphale had watched the customer as a matter of course–must keep an eye on his precious books. Crowley, however, had noticed some things about her–the heavy makeup, too heavy for someone so young, the bags under her eyes, the way she’d wandered helplessly from section to section, picking up some of Aziraphale’s few human psychology books and leafing through them, then putting them back with a sigh.

When she comes up to the desk, she’s scrupulously polite, but nervous, pulling at the long sleeves of her turtleneck–a turtleneck in August. “E-excuse me,” she stammers. “D-do you have any books on mental health?”

Aziraphale’s seen the signs too. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any books on mental health as such–the closest is that psychology section you were looking at.”

She nods, the tentative hope going out of her eyes. “Oh. Thank you.”

She turns away, shoulder hunched. Aziraphale doesn’t reach for her–he’s too well-trained for that–but he does say “However, if I may be so bold–?”

The girl turns back, brow furrowing, a mixture of hope and fear in her eyes. “Y-yes?”

As she tugs at her sleeves again, Aziraphale continues, “I don’t have any books on mental health as such, but I do have contacts with several community organizations that might be helpful.”

Hope starts to win out over fear. “Oh yes, y-yes please!”

Crowley doesn’t wander over, but he knows the places Aziraphale’s carefully writing out: suicide hotlines, battered women’s shelters, substance abuse clinics; everything this girl might possibly need.

The stiff paper rattles in her hands as she takes it, scans over it, then looks up, the first smile they’ve seen from her lighting up her face. “Thank you!”

Aziraphale smiles back and dares to pat her hand. “It was my pleasure, my dear. I hope everything turns out all right.”

The girl turns and runs out of the shop, throwing another “Thank you!” over her shoulder, setting the bell jangling.

Aziraphale frowns, sighing slightly.

“It’ll be all right, angel,” Crowley says, finally approaching the desk.

“Do you really think so?” Crowley sees the unaccustomed hopelessness in Aziraphale’s eyes, hopelessness and a slow anger at what humans do to themselves–and each other.

Crowley shrugs. “You’ve given her all the tools she needs. The rest is up to her.”

“I was afraid she’d be insulted or frightened when I gave her the list.”

Crowley nods. “That’s why I kept a low profile. Someone like you encourages confidences. Someone like me…” he trails off, shrugs again. He’s been called a lot of things over the millennia, but “reassuring” isn’t one of them.

“You help in your own way, dearest.”

Crowley grunts. He wasn’t fishing for compliments. “I’ll never understand your habit of picking up strays.” He gestures to the departed girl. “Her, that young mother in St. James’ Park you agreed to help out…”

Aziraphale bristles. “She was worn to a frazzle, poor thing!”

“Or what about that priest that was losing his faith, hmmm? Can’t blame Heaven for that one, you showed yourself to him on your own initiative.”

Aziraphale splutters, then rallies. “Oh, well, if it’s strays we’re talking about, what about that box of abandoned kittens I found you hand-rearing?”

Crowley knows from the heat in his face that he’s blushing. “I didn’t mean to let you see that.”

“You didn’t; you hadn’t been by the shop in several days and I was worried. Hardly proper demonly behavior.”

“All right, all _right_ , but I couldn’t just leave them there, could I? It was raining and they were cold!” Great, now he’s getting defensive. “At least cats don’t try to destroy the world like humans do!”

Aziraphale holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s just say I have my strays and you have yours, shall we? Besides,” he continues. “It’s quite–”

“ _Don’t_ say ‘nice’!” Crowley warns him.

“–sweet really,” Aziraphale continues blithely, and Crowley scowls at him.

His mind isn’t on the conversation anymore though. He’s thinking back to the night he found the kittens in a sack, right near a gushing downspout, squeaking pitifully. And, fine, he’s a demon, but he defies _anyone_ to resist that.

He’d taken them home, dried them off, and, since they were obviously too young to eat solid food, bedded them down in a box with a heater, magicked up some kitten formula and commenced feeding them.

He’d been busy with that for the next three days (kittens are _demanding_ buggers, good thing he didn’t need to sleep!) and sure enough, Aziraphale had shown up unexpectedly and the look on his face when he saw Crowley feeding one of the kittens, as the other three mewled from the box for their turn, still makes his insides squirm.

Aziraphale hadn’t said anything, though, just enquired if he’d needed help, which Crowley had grudgingly accepted, and they’d spent the afternoon feeding kittens together.

That had been months ago, though, and they were all safely adopted. If people think adoption agencies have strict criteria, that’s nothing to–

“Dearest? Are you all right? I didn’t mean anything by it, truly.”

Crowley jolts out of his thoughts, to see Aziraphale looking at him worriedly. “I know, angel, sorry, I was just woolgathering.”

Aziraphale smiles at him, then goes sober as he looks at the door. “Do you think she’ll be all right?”

Crowley shrugs again. “Who knows? There’s nothing stopping you discreetly checking up on her though, is there?”

Aziraphale strokes his chin, eyes gazing unseeingly at the door. “That’s true…” He snaps out of it after a moment and favours Crowley with one of his blinding smiles. “Thank you, dearest.”


End file.
